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ARSIESIS 


AND 


OTHER     POEMS 


Sx. 


What  wonder  if  they  lose  the  lif?ht 

Who  make  blind  Love  their  guide  by  day  and  night.— 

POLIZIANO. 


NEW   YORK 

P.     PUTNAM'S     SONS 

27  *    29  WEST   230    STREET 
I88I 


Copyright  nv 

G.   P.   PUTNAM'S  SONS 

l88£ 


Press  of 

G,  P.  Putnam  s  Sons 
N'e-M  York 


P  R  E  P^  A  C  E  . 


But  'Svhy  then  publish  ?"     There  are  no  rewards 
Of  fame  or  profit  when  the  world  grows  weary. 

I  ask,  in  turn,  why  do  you  i)lay  at  cards  ? 
Why  drink  ?    Why  read  ?     To  make  some   hour 
less  dreary. 

It  occupies  me  to  turn  back  regards 

On  what  I've  seen  or  ponder'd,  sad  or  cheery, 

And  what  I  write,  I  cast  upon  the  stream, 

To  swim  or  sink — I  've  had  at  least  my  dream. 

Don  Juan, 


159331 


CONTENTS 


ARSIESIS 


Introduction     , 
Priest        .         {Cajtto  I) 
QUEKN         .  {Canio  II) 

Goddess     .         {Canto  III) 
Love  .         {Cmtio  IV) 


PAGE 

7 
9 

22 

39 

55 


TRIFLES    IN    

See  note  on  pa^^  jz 

The  Lovers  :    A  Fragment    . 

•       73 

The  Covetous           .... 

87 

The  Nancy  Lee 

.       89 

Woman           ..... 

95 

Charity  .            .            .            ,            , 

.       97 

Song   .            .            .            . 

lOI 

Geneva    ..... 

.     102 

A  Dream        ..... 

105 

A  Fancy              .            . 

.     107 

A  Question   ..... 

109 

Saved       .            .                        .            ,            . 

.     Ill 

To  Edwin  Booth    .            .            . 

113 

INTRODUCTION. 

Close  thine  eyes  ; 
And  for  a  moment  gazing  back  o'er  Time's 
Unpeopled  avenue,  behold  on  either 
Side  the  ruins  of  many  a  nation  lie  ! 
But  seest  thou  in  the  distance  far,  towers, 
Temples,  pyramids  well  nigh  enveloped 
By  a  sea  of  sand  ?     And  wouldst  thou  let  thy 
Fancy  roam  awhile  'midst  most  forgotten 
Things  ?   There  graven  on  the  stone  is  found  a 
Story  of  the  by-gone  day,  which,  tho'  not 
Written  out  in  all  its  length,  is  well  made 
Clear  by  score  of  pictur'd  words.    Ope'  thine  eyes 
Vanished  is  that  mind-created  picture 
On  which  thy  gaze  did  rest.     But  list  and  I 
Will  weave  for  thee,  as  best  I  may,  a  tale 
Of  fact  and  fancy  : 


ARSIESIS. 

CANTO  I. 

WAS  then  the  very  noon  of  night, 
Each  star  did  lend  its  utmost  light, 
The  gathered  gloom  to  drive  away 
And  make  a  counterfeit  of  day  ; 
Whilst  she  of  all  the  stars  the  queen, 
Lent  silvery  radiance  to  the  scene. 
Now  'neath  the  soft  star-lighted  sky, 
A  city  of  the  East  did  lie, 
While  o'er  the  plain,  in  silence  deep, 
Rested  that  night  of  living,  sleep. 
As  in  some  landscape  of  a  dream, 
Swift  flowed  the  Nile,  that  mystic  stream, 
Whose  murmured  melody  was  heard, 
A  low  sweet  song  that  had  no  word. 
Which  for  those  who  in  sleep  did  lie, 
Seemed  as  a  gentle  lullaby. 
9 


lO  ARSIESIS. 

Partaking  also  in  the  calm. 
Like  watchmen  stood  the  graceful  palm  ; 
For  e'er  anon,  a  sudden  breeze 
Would  touch  the  foliage  of  those  trees  : 
As  sentry,  who  tho'  straight  may  stand, 
Has  felt  the  touch  of  slumber's  hand  ; 
A  cooling  gust  which  passeth  by 
Does  startle  him,  he  ope's  the  eye, 
Then  seeing  that  the  cause  is  plain, 
Sinks  to  oblivion  again. 

Grand  'neath  the  moonlight  did  appear 
A  palace  by  the  river  near  ; 
Close  by,  tho'  most  in  shadow  hid. 
High  tower'd  a  lofty  pyramid  : — 
The  human  fancy  is  a  stream, 
On  which  men  float  and  idly  dream  ; 
A  river  which  they  cannot  know 
Where  do  its  mystic  waters  flow. 
Its  source  is  in  the  human  mind. 
But  who  its  ending  point  can  find  ? 
They  watch  the  shores,  as  drifting  far. 
Through  lands  in  which  its  waters  are  ; 


ARSIESIS.  1 1 

Find  scenes  more  fair  than  words  can  tell. 
Where  nobler  beings  seem  to  dwell. 
As  if  the  gate  of  Heav'n  so  bright 
Had  open'd  for  an  angel's  flight  ; 
The  shining  messenger  swift  goes^ 
And  quickly  does  the  portal  close. 
Men,  for  a  moment,  see  those  rays^ 
Too  bright  by  far  for  mortal  gaze  ; 
Then  with  a  feeling  most  of  pain 
They  wake  to  earth  and  life  again. 
But  never  in  the  dreams  of  night, 
Nor  'midst  the  fancy's  wildest  flight, 
Was  seen  in  bright  ideal  place 
A  fairer  form,  a  lovelier  face. 
Than  in  that  palace,  yonder  seen, 
Where  dwelt  the  great  Egyptian  queen. 
Oh,  that  this  verse  might  perfect  be, 
As  perfect  in  its  way  as  she  ! 
If  so,  a  sweeter  poem  then, 
Did  never  flow  from  Byron's  pen. 

Now,  in  the  custom  of  that  day, 
A  temple  not  far  distant  lay  ; 


12  A  R  SI E  SIS. 

So,  when  religious  rites  she'd  see, 
The  place  might  most  convenient  be. 
But  naught  of  spire,  nor  tow'r  for  bell, 
Abode  of  deity  did  tell ; 
No  gilded  cross  nor  walls  of  gray- 
Told  men  it  was  a  place  to  pray. 
For  changeful  as  a  swallow's  flight, 
Has  been  religion  to  our  sight. 
Men  for  their  sins  did  then  atone, 
'Fore  images  of  wood  and  stone  ; 
While  e'en  as  sure  of  right  were  they, 
As  those  who  now  do  know  the  way. 
But  as  the  mind  of  man  did  change, 
*T  would  then  be  more  than  passing  strange, 
If  Christian  emblem  one  could  find 
In  deserts  of  the  human  mind  ; 
.     For  when  no  heavenly  light  men  see, 
Their  minds  indeed  a  desert  be. 
But  sure'  some  other  emblem,  then, 
Did  represent  the  faith  of  men  ; 
'T  was  neither  cross,  nor  tow'r  for  bell, 
Which  did  this  place  of  worship  tell  ; 
Since  'fore  each  temple  there  did  stand 


AJ^SIESIS.  13 

A  sculptured  figure,  strangely  grand, 
With  lion's  form  and  woman's  face, — • 
It  seemed  a  guardian  to  the  place. 
And  this,  't  is  clear,  was  the  portent 
Of  what  men  wished  to  represent : 
Man  doth  of  greater  knowledge  be, 
The  lion  of  more  strength  than  he. 
Thus,  these  Egyptians  did  combine 
The  two  in  form  of  mixed  design, 
And  offered,  in  this  novel  plan, 
Improvement  on  created  man. 
So  here,  in  solemn,  mystic  state, 
The  Sphinx  did  guard  the  temple  gate. 

An  arched  door,  from  which  did  go 
A  roadway  to  the  depths  below. 
All  paved  with  stone  of  purest  white, 
On  which  there  fell  a  misty  light 
From  arched  roof,  of  strange  design, 
Where  softly  rolling  fire  did  shine. 
And  of  this  roof,  each  glowing  block 
Seemed  hewn  from  phosphorescent  rock. 
Whose  living  light  did  ever  play 
Along  that  straight  and  narrow  way. 


£4  ARSIESIS. 

Now  readers  of  the  modern  time 

Do  seek  a  reason  with  the  rhyme ; 

And  few  of  wonders  they  allow, 

Save  when  the  writer  tells  the  "  how  "  ; 

More  pleasing  to  the  readers'  eye 

When  they  are  told  the  reason  why. 

But  of  those  ages  long  ago 

indeed  *t  is  little  that  we  know  ; 

For,  gazing  back  through  thousand  years. 

In  dim  perspective  all  appears  ; 

The  brighter  points  are  seen,  't  is  true, 

But  those  more  dim  are  lost  to  view  ; 

Things  seen  are  offered  to  the  sight, 

The  cause,  some  other  pen  must  write. 

An  entrance  this  bright  path  did  let, 

To  place  that  was  more  wondrous  yet ; 

A  temple  worthy  of  the  fame 

Of  her  which  Isis  is  the  name  : 

The  mightiest  goddess  did  she  stand, 

Of  all  in  that  Egyptian  land. 

And  here  it  was  the  priests  did  tell, 

The  deity  best  loved  to  dwell. 


ARSIESIS.  1 5 

Yet  entered  in,  t'  was  hard  to  see 
What  might  its  form  and  outline  be  ; 
For  little  aid  to  human  siglit 
Did  give  the  dimly  burning  light. 
But  there  on  altar  massive,  grand, 
A  carved  image  seemed  to  stand  ; 
While  tow'ring  columns  did  give  proof 
Of  bearing  up  a  mighty  roof, — 
That  roof,  tho'  most  in  shadow  hid, 
Was  e'en  the  lofty  pyramid. 

Oh,  for  the  power  to  here  give  space 
The  hidden  beauties  of  that  place  ! 
From  grandeur  of  what  's  seen,  't  is  clear, 
How  much  the  light  would  make  appear. 
And  all  this  would  be  told  to  thee, 
If  mortals  in  the  dark  could  see  ! 

But  naught  of  sound  disturbed  the  air, 
It  seemed  that  no  life  was  there. 
Ah  !  this  indeed  is  something  more, 
Which  looketh  like  a  grated  door, 
Whose  many  squares  of  yellow  light 


ARSIESIS. 

Appear  like  gilding  on  the  night. 

Behind  the  altar  was  concealed 

What  now  so  plainly  is  revealed. 

But  softly,  silent  as  the  tomb, 

Explore  that  little  inner  room. 

Perchance  there's  something  there  that  may 

The  cost  of  time  and  effort  pay. 

Ay,  there  a  man  of  noble  mien, 

In  deep  reflection  wrapt  is  seen ; 

While  on  a  table  standing  by, 

A  roll  of  papyrus  doth  lie  ; 

Likewise  are  visible  to  sight 

Some  implements  wherewith  to  write. 

But  papyrus  and  reeden  pen 

Did  lie  unused,  unthought  of  then  ; 

For  while  his  hand  did  on  them  stay, 

His  mind  seemed  center'd  far  away. 

Like  unto  those  who  chance  to  be 
Upon  the  borders  of  the  sea  ; 
Whilst  looking  far  across  the  haze, 
A  moving  form  doth  meet  their  gaze, 
Most  hidden  in  the  misty  light, 


AI^S/ESIS.  ly 

Too  far  removed  for  human  sight. 

'T  is  then  the  eye  with  effort  kind 

Doth  seek  to  gratify  the  mind  ; 

With  eyes  half  closed,  that  which  doth  flee, 

With  all  their  strength  they  try  to  see  ; 

But  all  they  see,  is  that  't  is  true 

The  object  is  beyond  their  view. 

So  the  Egyptian  sitteth  there, 

Deep  thinking  in  his  carved  chair  ; 

And  gazeth  on  a  boundless  sea, 

O'er  which  dim  objects  seem  to  flee ; — 

But  some  will  say,  this  is  not  clear, 

The  meaning  seemeth  hidden  here. 

How  can  a  man  beneath  the  ground 

Gaze  on  the  circling  waters  round  ? 

Or  did  that  ancient  day  give  birth 

To  men  that  gazed  through  the  earth  ? 

List  for  a  moment,  then  will  be 

The  meaning  very  clear  to  thee  : 

That  sea,  thou  sayest  hard  to  find, 

Is  e'en  within  the  human  mind, 

Whose  surface  bright  by  reason  lit, 

Ideas  o'er  do  seem  to  flit  ; 


1 8  ARSIESIS. 

And  that  their  meaning  may  be  caught, 
Men  view  them  with  the  eye  of  thought. 

Now  from  the  objects  gathered  there, 
The  linen  vestments  he  doth  wear, 
Take  all  in  all,  't  is  plain  to  see 
He  must  a  priest  of  Isis  be. 
And  like  to  those  who  reason  best 
While  working,  when  the  world's  at  rest, 
So,  tho'  the  night  had  wellnigh  gone, 
This  priest  did  think  and  study  on. 
What  thoughts  do  in  his  brain  revolve  ? 
Wliat  problem  doth  he  seek  to  solve  ? 
A  theme  of  Science — for  some  men 
The  records  show  were  learned  then  ? 
Or  some  new  wonder,  which  the  fame 
To  Isis  he  will  give  the  name  ? 
Oh  !  Priest,  indeed,  for  thee  *t  is  best 
To  seek  forgetfulness  in  rest. 
Soon  all  thy  nights  shall  wakeful  be. 
And  sleep  will  from  thine  eyelids  flee  ; 
Thy  love  for  Isis  thee  compel 
To  work  for  her  a  miracle. 


ARSIESIS. 

Recruit  thy  strength  in  Shimber's  land, 
Perchance  thy  task  is  near  at  hand. 

See,  hanging  there  within  his  sigh!:, 
A  tiny  globe  of  crimson  light  ; 
And  frequent  doth  his  gaze  repair 
Unto  the  flame  soft  burning  there, 
As  he  doth  often  toward  it  turn, 
To  rest  assured  it  still  does  burn. 
When  sudden  vanishes  the  spark. 
Its  life  is  gone,  the  globe  is  dark  : 
Yet  wick  and  oil  are  present  still — 
It  seemed  an  act  of  human  will. 

Now  when  no  light  his  eye  does  meet, 
Straightway  he  riseth  from  his  seat, 
Like  one  who  has  been  called  away 
By  summons  that  he  must  obey  ; 
For  lo  !  it  is  a  sign  indeed, 
The  Queen  doth  now  his  presence  need. 
Thus  called  by  her  own  command. 
Must  quickly  in  her  presence  stand. 
He  carefully  then  placed  aright 


20  ARSIESIS. 

His  robes  of  linen  snowy  white, 
And  from  its  place  a  mantle  drew, 
Which  quick  he  o'er  his  shoulders  threw. 
Then  did  across  the  chamber  pass. 
And  stood  before  a  metal  glass, 
That  on  the  forehead  he  might  place 
The  emblem  of  his  priestly  race. 
And  standing  there,  most  plain  to  see, 
Of  princely  form  and  face  was  he  : 
A  lofty  forehead  which  did  tell, 
That  there  intelligence  must  dwell ; 
And,  'neath  the  arched  brows,  dark  eye 
Where  did  a  world  of  feeling  lie  ; 
With  lines  of  every  feature  fair. 
As  if  some  sculptor  carved  them  there  ; 
And  in  each  point  of  form  and  face 
Was  there  a  touch  of  native  grace ; 
A  single  look  did  show  how  well, 
The  story  blood  will  ever  tell. 

Then  glancing  'round,  as  if  to  see 
That  no  one  else  may  present  be, 
He  closely  by  the  wall  does  stand, 


ARS/ESIS. 

And  'gainst  the  stone  doth  press  the  hand. 
A  massive  door  swings  slowly  back. 
Disclosing  there  a  paved  track, 
A  passage  to  the  palace  found, 
Which  leadeth  there  beneath  the  ground. 
He  quickly  through  the  opening  goes, 
Which  softly  does  behind  him  close, 
Hastens  to  see  what  this  may  mean, 
To  learn  the  pleasure  of  the  Queen. 


CANTO  II. 

EE  yonder  in  the  distance  blue, 

Soft  colored  by  enchantment's  hue, 
A  lofty  mountain  holds  a  place, 
With  flower- decked  valley  at  its  base. 
Where  Flora  well  might  love  to  roam, 
And  call  it  by  the  name  of  home. 
A  castle  's  on  the  summit  seen, 
With  walls  by  ivy  painted  green  ; 
Gray  towers  which  seem  to  seek  the  sky- 
*  T  is  picturesque  unto  the  eye. 

But  now  the  slowly  waning  day 
Doth  seem  to  beg  it  there  may  stay  ; 
And  lightens  up  that  gray  so  cold, 
With  hues  of  rich  empurpl'd  gold ; 
More  lovely  shades  have  all  things  ta'en, 
And  rosy-hued  each  window  pane. 
Ideal  it  doth  seem  to  lie, 

22 


ARSIESIS.  23 

With  background  of  the  tinted  sky. 
To  think  of  mortals  were  not  well, 
For  e'en  there  might  Aurora  dwell. 

But  brightest  scenes  do  shortest  stay, 
And  it  has  quickly  pass'd  away. 
For  even  now,  the  jealous  night 
Hath  robb'd  it  of  its  tinted  light. 
Not  long,  for  quick  the  night  is  seen 
To  fly  before  its  reigning  Queen  ; 
Mountain  and  castle  then  are  soon 
In  sight  beneath  the  rising  moon. 
Tho'  they  be  not  distinct  and  clear, 
As  by  the  day  they  did  appear  ; 
And  difficult  by  lack  of  light 
To  trace  the  castle's  form  aright ; 
Yet  when  the  clouds  which  drifting  play 
Shall  for  a  moment  clear  away, 
'  T  will  be  then  very  plain  to  see, 
What  it  by  light  of  day  did  be. 

So,  ere  Man,  driven  out  the  Gate, 
Had  fallen  from  his  high  estate, 


24  AUSIESIS. 

The  Sun  of  Life  did  make  appear 
His  perfect  nature,  plain  and  clear. 
Where  Woman  is,  there  likewise  Sin, 
Which  to  the  Garden  entered  in  : 
And  tho'  that  Sun  of  Life  had  set, 
Man's  perfect  nature  lasted  yet ; 
Like  to  the  castle  on  the  hill, 
Unseen  by  dark,  existing  still. 

But  soon  the  Moon  with  gentle  light 

Did  enter  combat  with  the  Night ; 

And  by  that  light,  we  yet  can  see 

How  truly  perfect  once  was  he. 

For  tho'  the  clouds  of  Sin  did  soon 

Obscure  the  brightness  of  that  Moon, 

Those  clouds,  when  drifting,  ever  will 

Show  perfect  man  existing  still. 

But  how  does  man,  through  all  his  woes, 

This  inner,  brighter  self  disclose  ? 

How  know  we  that  a  life  so  fair 

Doth  have  undoubted  being  there  ? 

In  human  minds,  do  oft  have  birth, 

Bright  thoughts  of  things  not  of  this  Earth  ; 


ARSIESIS.  .  25 

Of  higher,  nobler  themes  they  tell, 
Than  of  this  life  in  which  we  dwell. 
Words  seem  too  poor,  of  these  to  speak, 
A  higher,  nobler  tongue  we  seek. 
Yet  who  did  e'er  a  mortal  find 
With  hand  or  tongue  to  match  his  mind  ? 
If  flesh  and  spirit  matched,  't  would  be 
Again  the  perfect  man  to  see. 

At  times  a  painter  maketh  seen. 

In  measure  what  his  dreams  have  been. 

An  orator  doth  feel  full  well 

That  which  he  thinks,  but  cannot  tell. 

And  so  it  is  the  whole  list  through, 

'T  is  naught  that 's  strange,  't  is  nothing  new. 

That  of  our  thoughts,  the  greatest,  best, 

Are  never  utter'd  nor  express'd. 

Some  bright  ideals  from  afar 
Most  beautiful  when  pictured  are, 
While  others  would  more  perfect  look, 
If  made  apparent  in  a  book. 
What  oft  the  poets'  page  doth  fill, 
Were  fitter  for  a  painter's  skill. 


UNIVERSITY  J 


26  ARSIESIS. 

And  when  of  Woman  fair  we  tell, 

As  shown  to  us  by  Fancy's  spell, 

How  can  we  paint  that  face  aright, 

With  only  colors  black  and  white  ? 

Then  to  admit — 't  is  naught  but  fair — 

The  painter  hath  advantage  there. 

For  mix'd  and  ready  to  his  hand, 

The  colors  all  he  can  command. 

Now  oft  like  this  the  case  may  be 

(As,  reader,  you  will  shortly  see), 

That  when  't  is  plainly  thus,  why  then 

The  brush  is  mightier  than  the  pen. 

But  it  would  seem  these  thoughts  did  stray 

From  off  the  subject  far  away  ; 

So  back  from  paths  which  have  been  ta'en, 

To  story  of  the  priest  again. 

He  quickly  on  his  mission  bound. 

Goes  through  this  passage  underground — 

Which  secret  pathway,  strange  to  tell. 

Had  ending  in  an  empty  well — 

And  here  to  rest  he  does  not  stop. 

But  straightway  climbeth  to  the  top  ; 


ARSIESIS.  27 

After  which  effort,  breathing  hard, 
He  standeth  in  the  palace  yard. 

In  shining  armor,  spear  in  hand, 
A  soldier  'fore  the  door  doth  stand  ; 
So  still  and  motionless  is  he, 
It  might  an  iron  figure  be. 
But  when  the  priest  hath  drawn  near, 
He  starteth  up,  and  grasps  that  spear  ; 
Then  quick  restores  it  to  its  place, 
When  he  does  recognize  the  face  ; 
Inclines  the  head,  and  lowers  the  eye 
Unto  him  as  he  passeth  by. 
At  other  doors  he  goeth  through, 
The  sentinels  all  likewise  do. 
Till  now  is  curtain'd  entrance  seen, 
The  palace  proper  of  the  Queen. 
Here  for  a  time,  by  custom's  cause, 
All  men  must  for  a  moment  pause. 
To  find  if  it  her  pleasure  be 
The  person  waiting  there  to  see. 
But  with  this  priest  't  is  other  case. 
He  doth  not  even  slack  his  pace. 


2^  A  R  SI E  SIS. 

Maketh  a  motion  with  the  hand 

To  turban'd  slave  who  there  doth  stand, 

That  quickly  for  him  moves  aside, 

To  ope'  the  'broider'd  curtains  wide, 

Which  passing  through,  the  priest  doth  seem 

Within  the  regions  of  a  dream  : 

For  sudden  on  the  view  did  break 

What  seemed  to  be  a  lovely  lake  ;, 

Scarcely  from  Nature  tell  apart 

This  wondrous  counterfeit  of  Art, 

Whose  lovely  verdure-cover'd  shore 

Full  many  a  graceful  palm  tree  bore. 

And  where  did  land  and  lake  unite, 

Were  pebbles  of  a  snowy  white  ; 

Tasteful  and  pretty  here  was  seen 

The  contrast  of  the  white  and  green. 

With  perfume  sweet,  and  color  fair. 

Did  bloom  the  water  lily  there. 

While  'neath  the  water,  crystal  clear, 

Did  fish  of  richest  hue  appear, 

Gliding  along  with  lazy  grace, 

In  keeping  with  the  gorgeous  place. 

And  distance,  imitated  too. 


>^     OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

Did  lend  its  beauty  to  the  view, 

As  in  the  twilight  far  away, 

The  shades  of  sunset  seemed  to  stray  ; 

Whose  dying  brightness  there  did  fall 

Upon  a  lofty  temple  wall. 

Which,  with  its  little  isle,  did  make 

A  pretty  picture  on  the  lake. 

'Most  looking  on  the  air  to  ride, 

Stretched  a  bridge  from  side  to  side  ; 

In  pretty  keeping  with  the  place. 

It  seemed  made  of  ivory  lace. 

On  top,  on  either  side,  a  line 

Of  gilded  lamps  in  rich  design  ; 

Whose  light,  as  it  the  shade  went  through, 

Was  softened  to  a  roseate  hue. 

Above  the  lake,  what  met  the  eye  ? 

And  was  there  then  a  kind  of  sky  ? 

When  passer  viewed  the  scene  below, 

His  gaze  did  seldom  upward  go ; 

So  nature-like  the  scene  did  lie, 

Of  course  above  it  was  the  sky. 

Quick  moving  onward,  as  before, 
The  priest  sooh  pass'd  the  lakelet  o'er. 


jO  AA'S/£S/S. 

And  'gain,  when  he  has  reached  here, 

A  curtain'd  doorway  does  appear ; 

In  front  of  which,  on  either  hand, 

A  pretty  female  slave  doth  stand, 

Whose  color  fair  and  classic  face 

Proclaim  her  of  the  Grecian  race. 

A  wealth  of  flowing,  silky  hair 

Falls  o'er  those  pretty  shoulders  bare  ; 

While  scarce  concealed — oh  !  well,  't  is  clear 

'Most  waste  of  time  to  linger  here. 

But  thoughts  of  woman,  through  all  time, 

Did  fall  so  easy  into  rhyme. 

Temptation  sore  it  was  to  stay, 

Not  from  the  subject — away. 

Would  now  some  pen  of  greater  might 
This  portion  of  the  story  write  ; 
With  brighter  thought  and  clearer  word 
The  charms  of  this  fair  Queen  be  heard. 
Oh,  would  that  Angelo  might  draw 
This  perfect  form  as  here  he  saw  ! 
That  graceful  Raphael  could  trace 
The  charm  and  beauty  in  that  face  ! 


ARSIESIS.  3 1 

Then  should  great  Titian  here  begin 
To  put  his  living  colors  in. 
Which  masterpiece,  when  finished,  you 
Should  have  presented  to  your  view  ; 
When  with  it  thou  thine  eyes  hadst  fill'd. 
Wast  by  this  perfect  likeness  thrill'd, 
Then  veil'd  it  o'er,  yet  't  would  remain 
A  fair  remembrance  in  thy  brain  ; 
And  at  this  point  I  'd  take  the  pen 
To  try  and  please  thee  once  again. 
Such  dreams  away !  this  cannot  be  ; 
Sweet  reader,  enter  in  with  me. 

'T  is  place  where  after  burning  day 
Is  driven  by  the  night  away, 
The  dweller  in  the  palace  there 
May  best  enjoy  the  evening  air. 
Light,  fluted  columns  do  uphold 
A  roof  of  Saracenic  mould. 
Which,  hollowed  out,  seems  to  the  eye 
Indeed  to  counterfeit  the  sky  ; 
For  to  the  looker's  gaze  there  are 
An  azure  depth  and  many  a  star. 


32  A  R  SI  E  SIS. 

A  fountain's  waters  upward  bound, 
Then  fall  below  with  cooling  sound, 
Which  seems  to  say  in  language  sweet, 
"  Once  parted  we  are  glad  to  meet." 

Enough  then  of  this  casket  fair, 
Speak  rather  of  the  jewel  there  ; 
For  gems  of  Art  tho'  fair  to  see, 
Treasures  of  Nature  fairer  be. 
Four  columns  in  the  hue  of  gold 
A  purple  canopy  uphold, 
'Neath  which,  in  all  her  beauty  seen. 
Reclines  this  fair  Egyptian  Queen. 

For  one  of  Oriental  race, 

How  wondrous  fair  the  tint  of  face  ; 

What  could  be  sweeter  to  the  eyes, 

That  perfect  form  extended  lies 

In  way  that  woman  looketh  best, 

Her  cheek  'gainst  lovely  hand  does  rest. 

Too  pretty  far  to  e'er  conceal. 

Her  robes  a  tiny  foot  reveal  ; 

Like  arch  of  bridge,  'twas  arched  so, 


AJ^SIESIS.  33 

For  'neath  it  might  the  water  flow. 
That  robe,  so  fine  light  passeth  through 
And  maketh  it  of  pinkish  hue, 
Has  slipp'd  and  left  her  shoulder  bare, 
With  all  its  charms  exposed  there. 
But,  O  those  eyes  a  tale  do  tell  ! 
Her  very  soul  doth  in  them  dwell  ; 
Those  liquid  depths  do  seem  to  be 
Far  deeper  than  the  depthless  sea. 

It  look'd  as  if  her  thoughts  did  stray 
O'er  scenes  that  took  her  far  away. 
And  there  did  seem  to  be  a  trace 
Of  mingled  sadness  on  that  face. 
But  she  was  young  and  gentle  then. 
Knew  little  of  the  world  and  men. 
Oh  !  couldst  thou  now  thy  future  see, 
Thine  eyes,  fair  Queen,  would  sadder  be. 

A  slave  with  feather'd  fan  stood  there, 
And  o'er  her  gently  stirred  the  air. 
Too  tired  a  longer  watch  to  keep, 
A  pretty  child  has  fall'n  asleep 


34  ARSIESIS. 

Who  did,  perchance,  her  thoughts  inspire 
With  softened  music  from  the  lyre. 

It  seemed  her  eyes  did  watch  it,  too, 
This  mental  picture  that  she  drew. 
From  out  the  place  her  gaze  did  stray 
To  other  regions  far  away  ; 
For  enter'd  there,  with  folded  hands, 
The  priest  in  perfect  silence  stands, 
Awaiting  till  she  be  aware 
That  he  attends  her  pleasure  there. 
Howe'er,  at  length  she  now  doth  seem 
To  rouse  her  from  that  waking  dream  ; 
Missing  at  last  the  music's  sound, 
Half  rising  up  she  gazeth  round, 
And  smileth,  as  her  look  doth  meet 
The  little  player  at  her  feet  ; 
Then  seeming  to  half  startl'd  be, 
She  suddenly  the  priest  does  see. 
And  speaking  softly^  breathes  each  word, 
As  wind  o'er  tuned  string  is  heard  ; 
While  unto  him  she  now  doth  say 
In  kindly,  most  familiar  way  : 


AKSIESIS.  35 

"  Welcome,  Arsiesis  ;  but  why  keep 
So  silent,  for  I  did  not  sleep  ; 
'T  was  not  thy  zeal  for  me  to  test, 
That  made  me  call  thee  from  thy  rest. 
A  hidden  page  of  Fate  I'd  see, 
Would  have  thy  Goddess  ope  to  me." 
Thus  telling  that  which  she  did  seek. 
The  priest  did  then  unto  her  speak  : 

"  Full  well  thou  knowst,  O  mighty  Queen  ! 

Much  is  there  n'er  by  mortals  seen. 

Men  little  of  the  Future  know. 

Until  it  with  the  Past  does  go. 

And  very  easy  thou  canst  see 

'T  is  of  the  gods  a  wise  decree. 

That  tho'  we  with  impatience  burn 

The  leaves  of  Fate  to  faster  turn, 

'T  is  yet  alone  for  them  to  say, 

What  Cometh  with  another  day. 

For  if  it  were  that  thou  couldst  see 

The  pleasure  held  in  store  for  thee, 

As  it  in  Present  thou  wouldst  live, 

No  joy  could  then  the  Future  give. 


36  ARS/ES/S. 

Or  elsewise,  couldst  thou  have  thy  will, 

Then  'fore  thee  see  a  coming  ill, 

'T  would  ever  be  before  thy  mind, 

And  life  thou  wouldst  a  desert  find. 

Of  ills  the  Future  sure  hath  some, 

Hadst  better  leave  them  till  they  come." 

And  here  he  then  his  speech  did  stay. 

To  listen  what  the  Queen  might  say. 

With  eyes  cast  down,  she  'd  weighed  each  word 

Of  all  the  saying  she  had  heard. 

But  now  doth  quickly  raise  the  head, 

As  thus  unto  her  priest  she  said  : 

"  Arsiesis,  needless  't  is  to  tell, 

That  I  do  think  thou'st  spoken  well. 

It  is  not  good  that  I  should  try 

To  in  the  hidden  Future  pry. 

But  in  my  mind  a  thought  did  creep. 

Which  all  night  long  has  banish'd  sleep. 

It  seemed  that  I  were  possest 

Of  very  spirit  of  unrest. 

Which  e'er  did  whisper  unto  me, 

'  Ask  Isis  what  thy  fate  shall  be.* 


^RSIESIS.  37 

Now  Isis  it  is  known  full  well 
Doth  like  to  in  my  temple  dwell  ; 
While  men  proclaim  it  near  and  far 
That  you  her  fav'rite  servant  are. 
And  canst  thou  bring  about  the  task 
Of  gaining  for  me  what  I  ask  ? 
But  not  in  usual  way  I  seek, 
To  hear  her  through  an  image  speak. 
Some  god-like  being  must  appear, 
That  I  it  both  may  see  and  hear. 
And  O  Arsiesis  tell  to  me 
If  this  is  possible  to  be  !  " 

Now  as  the  priest  her  meaning  took, 

His  face  did  wear  a  troubled  look  ; 

And  for  a  time  he  answer'd  naught, 

But  seemed  deep  immers'd  in  thought, 

From  which  at  last  he  did  awake, 

And  with  these  words  the  silence  break  : 

"  Oh  !  Cleopatra,  't  is  my  way 

To  listen  well  and  then  obey. 

But  now  I  needs  must  tell  to  thee 

That  what  thou  'st  asked  can  scarcely  be. 


AKSIESIS. 

To-night  I  cannot  tell  to  you 

What  in  this  thing  may  Isis  do. 

But  to  the  temple  I  '11  repair 

To  seek  communion  with  her  there. 

And  on  that  day  when  she  is  prone 

Through  me  to  make  her  wishes  known, 

To  thee  a  messenger  shall  go, 

And  thou  shalt  quick  these  tidings  know." 

"  Arsiesis,  plainly  do  I  see 

Again  thou  speakest  well  to  me. 

If  Isis  give  to  me  this  sign, 

Then  mighty  honors  shall  be  thine  ; 

But  haste  away,  for  't  is  not  best 

To  rob  thee  of  thy  rightful  rest. 

Till  this  the  Goddess  shall  thee  tell. 

Good  health  be  thine,  and  fare  thee  well." 


CANTO  III. 


EHOLD  yon  pretty  flow'ring  vine 

Which  gracefully  does   upward   twine; 
Each  tiny  flower  to  heaven  above 
Doth  cast  one  perfumed  look  of  love, 
As  if  to  thank  a  Father's  care 
In  giving  to  it  light  and  air. 
But  'most  as  small,  like  thread  of  green, 
Its  cluster-bearing  stem  is  seen  ; 
Yet  in  the  air  it  riseth  far, 
And  heavy  weight  its  branches  are. 
Thick  grow  the  leaves,  or  thou  wouldst  see 
By  staff  it  doth  supported  be  ; 
Through  all  its  course,  through   all  its  length, 
'T  is  strong  but  by  another  strength  ; 
If  not  this  kindly  aid  't  had  found, 
Could  ne'er  rise  higher  than  the  ground. 
So  this  to  thee  may  be  a  sign, 
How  like  is  man  to  clinging  vine. 
39 


40  ARSIESIS. 

For  earliest  records  do  reveal 
That  men  did  e'er  their  weakness  feel  ; 
And  then  most  plainly  was  it  seen 
They  on  a  higher  power  must  lean  ; 
Some  helping  staff  on  which  to  rest, 
Whereby  to  grow  and  flourish  best  ; 
Wliich  tho'  the  eye  could  not  declare, 
Yet  must  they  feel  its  presence  there. 
AVith  it,  they  'd  rise  to  fame  and  worth, 
Without  it,  grovel  on  the  earth. 

Mythology  doth  plainly  show 
On  what  supports  men's  faith  did  grow. 
Perchance,  in  supplication  they 
First  knelt  before  some  form  of  clay  ; 
Or  farther  when  Time's  course  had  run, 
They  ask  'd  a  blessing  of  the  Sun. 
Howe'er  this  be,  'fore  men  the  light 
Burned  always  brighter  with  Time's  fliglit. 
Yet  ere  had  dawn'd  that  later  day, 
The  living  Sun  drove  dark  away, 
Scarce,  better  faith  had  there  been  seen 
Than  that  of  which  was  Isis  queen  : 


ARSIESIS.  41 

Not  that  low  form  which  history  says 

Was  practised  in  Pompeian  days — 

Those  "  Days  "  which  Bulwer  did  so  well 

In  language  and  tradition  tell 

(As  reader  you  will  sure  agree 

If  you  did  e'er  those  ruins  see), 

But  't  was  a  faith  which  long  did  stand, 

Was  born  in  that  Egyptian  land  ; 

Confined  only  to  a  few 

Who  then  its  "  Greater  Mysteries  "  knew. 

In  many  a  nation,  far  and  wide, 

Did  worship  of  her  long  abide  ; 

And  as  their  own  each  people  claims 

That  "  Goddess  with  ten  thousand  names," 

For  whom  Arsiesis  saw,  't  is  true, 

He  must  indeed  a  wonder  do. 

And  tho'  great  labor  this  did  mean, 

He  most  desired  to  please  the  Queen. 

With  little  rest  was  he  content  ; 

His  nights  in  thought  and  study  spent  ; 

With  cunning  workmen  all  the  day 

Did  he  now  pass  his  time  away ; 


42  AJiSIES/S. 

Those  things  he  in  his  brain  did  feel, 
That  they  might  to  his  eye  reveal. 

Though  modern  nations  sure  that  they 
Have  found  it  in  this  latter  day, 
Ruin  and  record  plainly  show 
That  science  flourished  long  ago  ; 
And  that  the  priests  did  use  it  then 
To  mystify  the  minds  of  men. 

The  art  of  making  is  forgot, 
(But  that  affects  the  matter  not) 
Dishes  of  glass  all  bright  and  clear, 
On  which  doe?  no  design  appear  ; 
Pour  water  in  and  quickly  see  . 
There  forms  of  little  fishes  be. 
Tho'  strange,  it  seems  beyond  a  doubt, 
The  water  brings  those  colors  out. 
•  And  thus  it  is  with  many  men, 
Who  say,  ''  There  was  no  knowledge  then. 
Clear  through  the  Past  they  think  to  look 
It  seemeth  like  unprinted  book. 
If  of  this  "  empty  "  Past  they  care 
To  see  the  forms  that  sure  are  there, 


AliSIESIS.  43 

Pour  on't  the  stream  of  knowledge  clear, 
And  unto  them  they  '11  quick  appear. 

And  high  then  did  Arsiesis  climb 
That  hill  of  knowledge  in  his  time. 
So  with  its  help,  and  by  his  skill, 
All  aided  by  the  power  of  will, 
Tho'  long  and  tedious  wai:  the  route, 
He  hoped  to  work  the  problem  out. 
As  oft  when  gazing  on  the  sky 
Where  spot  of  soften'd  light  doth  lie, 
Tho'  not  distinct  unto  the  sight, 
We  know  it  is  the  lesser  light. 
But  only  watch,  the  breezes  may 
Swift  blow  those  little  clouds  away, 
When  clearly  and  distinctly  soon 
Is  seen  the  brightly-rising  moon  ; 
And  tho'  thou  saw'st  it  there  did  be. 
For  clouds,  thou  couldst  not  plainly  see. 
So  when  we  seek,  with  inner  sight. 
To  grasp  the  form  of  mental  light, 
Most  from  the  first  are  we  aware 
That  it  is  dim  and  shadowy  there  ; 


44  ARSIESIS. 

But  other  thoughts  before  it  go, 
We  can't  its  true  proportions  know  ; 
At  last  like  clouds  they  drift  away, 
And  we  do  see  it  clear  as  day. 
All  by  the  priest  at  length  is  seen, 
So  thus  he  writes  unto  his  Queen  : 

"  O  Cleopatra  great !  The  task  which  thou 
Didst  set  for  me  was  difficult,  most 
Difficult  indeed.     Great  Isis  did  I 
Long  entreat  with  many  a  prayer  and 
Sacrifice,  till  she  did  listen  unto 
Me,  and  now  hath  granted  thy  request.     I  '11 
Tell  thee  what  thou  e'en  must  do  if  thou  thy 
Fate    wouldst   hear.       When    next — which    is 

three  days  from 
Hence — the    moon    shall    cast   her   new-born 

brightness 
O'er  the  earth,  then  to  the  temple  come,  at 
Middle  time  of  night,  and  thou  shalt  see  and 
Hear  what  will  indeed  be  most  surprising. 
All  well    with    thee    till    then.      Thy  faithful 

priest,  Arsiesis." 


AI^SIESIS.  45 

Three  times  the  sun  in  glory  bright 

Had  said  unto  the  eartli  good  night ; 

Three  times  did  he  in  darkness  stay 

To  brighter  make  the  coming  day  ; 

It  nearly  then  the  hour  did  be 

Her  future  for  the  Queen  to  see. 

And  so  for  her  the  priest  did  wait, 

Standing  beside  the  temple  gate  ; 

When  suddenly  those  lights  appear 

Which  told  him  that  the  Queen  drew  near. 

The  guards  did  pause,  no  word  was  said, 

And  then  the  priest  with  bended  head, 

Alone  conducted  her  below,^ 

None  other  there  could  with  her  go. 

'Twas  dark  ;  no  sound  disturb'd  the  air  ; 
It  seem'd  no  living  thing  was  there. 
The  quiet  seemed  to  portent 
The  coming  of  some  great  event. 
At  last  before  the  altar,  they — 
When  pausing,  thus  the  priest  did  say, 
"  O  Queen  !  the  Goddess  told  to  me. 
That  thou  alone  must  present  be. 


46  ARSIESIS. 

And  now  't  is  meet  that  I  do  go, 

As  none  but  thee  thy  fate  can  know." 

Then  Cleopatra  left  alone, 

Doth  kneel  upon  that  floor  of  stone, 

And  prayeth,  that  the  sign  she  '11  see, 

May  tell  her  life  will  happy  be. 

How  lovely  is  she  kneeling  there, 

With  that  sad  sweet,  expectant  air. 

Like  tinted  cloud  at  break  of  day. 

The  rich  blood  to  her  cheek  doth  stray  ; 

Those  speaking  eyes  seem  wondrous  bright. 

Excitement  to  them  lendeth  light. 

Thy  pretty  ways,  bewitching  grace, 

Compare  most  fitly  with  thy  face. 

Ay  !  truly  men  might  say  to  you, 

"  Thou'rt  Venus  and  Minerva  too  "; 

A  deity  must  heartless  be 

Who  could  refuse  kind  fate  to  thee. 

But  jealousy,  no  less  than  love. 

Is  found  in  all,  below,  above. 

And  so  it  would  have  seemed  best 

If  thou  thy  case  hadst  e'en  let  rest 


ARSIES/S.  47 

With  god,  not  goddess,  then  O  Queen  ! 
Thou  might'st  a  brighter  page  have  seen. 
No  harsher  judgments  women  know. 
Than  those  which  from  their  sex  do  go. 

But  now  in  manner  slow,  yet  strange. 

This  darkness  curtained  scene  doth  change. 

A  soften'd  misty  light  now  there 

Pervades  the  temple  ev'rywhere. 

E'en  as  the  slow,  diffused  light 

Of  daybreak  doth  absorb  the  night, 

No  single  spot  its  birth  doth  know, 

It  seemeth  everywhere  to  go  ; 

Like  smile  upon  an  infant's  face 

Its  source  is  difficult  to  trace. 

And  over  head,  tho'  'neath  the  ground, 

A  shining  firmament  is  found  ; 

Where,  like  as  seen  upon  the  sky, 

Each  star  and  constellation  lie. 

And  growing  with  the  light  more  clear, 

Soft  waves  of  sound  break  on  the  ear  ; 

As  if  a  gentle  breeze  did  stray 

O'er  soft  ^olian  harps  to  play. 


48  ARSIESIS. 

The  darkness,  fled  all  things  so  bi-ight, 

That  temple  fairly  glows  with  light  ; 

For  scroll  and  border  seem  to  shine, 

As  if  all  drawn  in  fiery  line  ; 

And  each  traced  mark  that  's  there  to  see, 

Looks  even  now  to  burning  be  ; 

While  softest  voices  fill  the  air, 

And  sweetly  sing  this  little  prayer: — 

"  Isis  sov'reign  of  the  gods, 
Mistress  of  the  miirm'ring  sea, 
Who  through  time  each  nation  lauds, 
Thus  we  sing  to  thee. 

Queen  of  spirits  after  death, 
Older  than  existing  time, 
Who  dost  give  the  living  breath, 
Thou  we  praise  sublime. 

Worship'd  e'en  by  many  a  name, 
That  the  diff'rent  tongues  do  call, 
Yet  unto  the  world  the  same, 
Isis,  Queen  of  all. 


ARSIESIS.  49 

Hark  to  Cleopatra's  prayer, 
Let  a  happy  fate  be  seen, 
Void  of  sorrow,  free  from  care, 
Isis  bless  our  Queen." 

As  sound  with  light  here  seems  to  stay, 
It  with  that  light  doth  pass  away ; 
And  in  the  distance  seems  to  die, 
The  very  shadow  of  a  sigh. 
But  see,  a  spot  of  gilded  air 
Doth  hang  above  the  altar  there  ! 
While  with  a  motion  sure  yet  slow, 
Does  it  in  form  and  brightness  grow. 
And  on  that  brighten'd  beam  of  air 
A  perfect  form  now  standeth  there ; 
So  bright  and  lovely  't  is  to  see, 
It  might  indeed  fair  Iris  be. 
Ay,  there  she  stands,  enchanting  sight  I 
A  pretty  spirit  born  of  light. 
A  form  on  which  the  eye  to  feast — 
Thou  hast  indeed  done  well,  O  Priest ! 

The  kneeling  Queen  in  deep  amaze, 
Scarce*  on  this  vision  dares  to  gaze. 


50  AJ^SIESIS. 

With  bended  head  she  doth  await, 

The  words  which  shall  contain  her  fate. 

A  wave  of  life,  as  if  of  air 

Pervades  that  spirit  standing  there  ; 

A  look  of  living  doth  replace 

The  passive,  on  that  form  and  face. 

Then  soft  as  twilight  in  the  West, 

Her  gaze  upon  the  Queen  doth  rest. 

A  voice  like  sighing  sea  is  heard 

Which  seems  to  breathe,  not  speak,  each  word 

"  Queenly  Isis  did  me  send, 
Princess,  unto  thee  ; 
To  her  saying  now  attend, 
Hearken  unto  me. 

Thou  a  stormy  future  hast, 

Like  to  raging  wave  ; 

Thou  o'er  men  thy  charms  shalt  cast 

Making  each  thy  slave. 

And  degrade  what  men  call  love, 
In  ambition's  cause  ; 


ARSIESIS. 

False  to  all  below,  above, 
Downward  without  pause. 

Finally  thy  life  will  make, 
Torture  in  thy  mind  ; 
Then  it  in  thy  hand  thou'lt  take, 
Rest  that  thou  mayst  fmd." 

When  these  solemn  words  were  said, 
Still  she  knelt  with  bended  head, 
Like  as  if  too  great  a  task, 
For  at  once  her  mind  to  grasp. 
But  at  length  it  seemeth  clear  ; 
All  its  terrors  do  appear ; 
Then  with  one  despairing  sigh 
Senseless  on  her  face  doth  lie. 
Nature's  pity  doth  prevail, 
O'er  her  living  draws  a  veil. 

Woman's  lot  is  far  from  worst, 
Blessed  with  pretty  face — not  curst, 
Tho'  her  mind  can  scarcely  stray 
Higher  than  the  Dance  or  Play, 


52  ARSIESIS. 

Lack  of  brain  cannot  confer, 
Least  unhappiness  on  her. 
Nothing  knowing,  she  doth  go, 
Thinking  she  does  all  things  know. 
Should  she  chance  to  suffer  wrong, 
Sorrow  cannot  hold  her  long. 
Great  is  the  mind  which  grief  and  pain, 
Can  thereunto  an  entrance  gain. 
Not  so  pleasant  is  her  path 
She  who  mind  for  beauty  hath. 
Then  her  life  is  one  long  sigh. 
That  she  's  unpleasing  to  the  eye. 

But  most  unhappy  of  her  race. 

When  curs'd  with  beauty,  wit,  and  grace. 

Yes,  made  for  love  and  loving,  she, 

When  love  doth  pain  and  sorrow  be. 

If  woman  beauty  hath  alone. 

This  to  her  foes  will  e'er  atone. 

The  feeling  that  the  dart  will  hit 

To  say,  "  Yes,  beauty,  but  no  wit." 

But  hath  she  both,  then  it  is  fate 

Her  enemies  will  ever  hate. 


AKSIESIS.  53 

Ay  !  foes  from  out  the  moral  mud, 
Yea  even  of  her  flesh  and  blood. 
When  man  acts  thus,  't  is  plain  to  tell, 
All  devils  do  not  live  in  hell. 
But  why  the  wrongs  of  Woman  dream  ? 
The  thought  is  foreign  to  the  theme. 

Like  unto  many  of  his  race 

The  priest  well  read  the  human  face. 

And  thus  he  very  plain'  could  see, 

Her  lot  would  never  happy  be. 

How  often  doth  it  happen  so, 

That  men  the  Future  seem  to  know. 

And  the  fame  then  spreadeth  far 

That  they  very  prophets  are. 

Yet  these  coming  things  they  find. 

By  the  aid  of  human  mind. 

Like  when  ripple  soft  doth  make. 
Stir  on  surface  of  a  lake, 
Life  which  banished  was  by  pain  . 
Stealeth  o'er  the  Queen  again. 
Then  she  rising,  seeking  air. 
Sees  Arsiesis  standing  there. 


54  AKSIESIS. 

Not  a  word  doth  either  say, 

Strangely  silent  both  are  they. 

No  thought  does  she  by  word  reveal  ; 

Seeming  to  only  think  and  feel 

All  that  dark  and  gloomy  fate, — 

Then  they  reach  the  temple  gate. 

But  ere  she  doth  go  away, 

Turning  to  the  priest  does  say, 

"  Clear  it  is  unto  my  view, 

That  thy  warning  words  were  true. 

Let  that  Future,  mortals'  friend, 

Keep  her  secrets  to  the  end. 

But  't  is  easy  to  be  wise, 

AVhen  our  folly  's  'fore  our  eyes. 

And  it  ever  hath  been  so, 

We  never  know  until  we  know." 

Then  with  a  look  well  nigh  of  pain, 

She  seeks  her  palace  once  again. 


CANTO  IV. 


OON  o'er  the  land  the  news  doth  go, 
And  each  Egyptian  seems  to  know 
How,  through  the  priest,  the  goddess  e'en 
Hath  shown  great  wonders  to  the  Queen. 
This  priest,  all  men  are  quick  to  see, 
A  fav'rite  with  the  gods  must  be  ; 
While  highest  honor,  mighty  fame, 
Attach  unto  Arsiesis'  name. 

Now  casual  glance  does  scarce  reveal 
All  this  religion  did  conceal ; 
But  maketh  think  that  they  alone 
Did  worship  gods  of  wood  and  stone. 
Like  to  those  imitators,  they 
Who  thought  to  steal  this  faith  away, 
Those  Romans  who  did  oft  avow 
As  'fore  some  image  they  did  bow, 
They  did  believe,  they  did  declare 
55 


56  ARSJESIS. 

That  it  was  Isis  standing  there. 
Ay  !  even  that  the  stone  did  live, 
That  she  to  it  did  being  give. 

Like  boy  who  through  some  garden  goes, 
Pauseth  to  pUick  a  blooming  rose  ; 
Which,  knowing  that  he  hath  no  right. 
Does  quickly  then  put  out  of  sight. 
Yet  when  the  time  shall  come  about 
That  he  will  think  to  draw  it  out, 
Then,  tho'  its  form  may  still  be  fair. 
He  '11  find  but  little  odor  there. 
Yes,  he  did  steal  that  rose,  't  is  true, 
But  could  not  steal  its  perfume  too  ; 
And  e'en  has  left,  as  he  doth  find, 
The  spirit  of  that  flower  behind. 
So  when  they  thought,  't  would  easy  be 
To  take  that  faith  across  the  sea, 
Tho'  this  they  did  with  wondrous  care, 
They  left  its  very  spirit  there. 

Perchance  a  Roman  thus  would  say  : 
"  Thy  ancient  gods  now  with  us  stay. 


ARSIESIS.  '  57 

Our  priests  Osiris  did  invoke, 

And  straightway  then  his  image  spoke." 

Now  when  such  words  as  these  were  said, 

Th'  Egyptian  priests  did  shake  the  head 

And  then  this  mystic  answer  give, 

*'  Our  gods  ne'er  on  the  Earth  did  live.' 

By  images,  at  first,  't  was  meant 

The  gods  unseen  to  represent, 

(Which  in  our  day  't  is  plain  to  see 

That  it  doth  very  dangerous  be,) 

As  emblems  they  were  soon  forgot. 

And  then  were  things  which  they  were  not. 

So  thus  it  was  the  knowledge  true 

Was  then  confined  to  the  few  ; 

And  superstitions  they  did  wield 

Did  to  the  priests  great  power  yield. 

Tho'  happiness,  like  unto  flowers. 
Doth  flourish  oft  'neath  Fortune's  showers, 
Yet  with  the  priest  it  seemed  instead 
That  joy  from  out  his  life  had  fled. 
And  thus  't  had  been  e'er  since  the  night 


OF  THE     ' 

UNIVERSITY 


58  ARSIESIS. 

When  Cleopatra  saw  that  sight, 
And  in  that  mighty  house  of  stone, 
They  had  together  stood  alone. 
Since  then  Arsiesis'  friends  do  see 
That  he  a  changed  man  doth  be. 
Tho'  e'er  inclined  to  study,  yet 
Pleasures  of  life  did  ne'er  forget ; 
And  in  the  social  world  did  find 
Oft  relaxation  for  the  mind. 

All  gone  those  happy  looks  he  had  ; 

Seemeth  he  now  both  worn  and  sad  ; 

While  scarcely  does  he  ever  stray 

From  out  the  temple  walls  away. 

The  Queen  is  quick  this  change  to  see, 

And  asketh  what  the  cause  may  be  ; 

He  answereth  that  his  nights  are  spent 

In  gazing  on  the  firmament,  ^ 

Devising  means  that  will  declare 

Those  mysteries  which  are  hidden  there. 

That  sleepless  nights,  't  was  nothing  strange, 

On  human  faces  work  a  change  ; 

And  tho'  this  saying  sounded  well. 


ARSIESIS.  59 

In  fact  't  was  only  made  to  tell, 
Since  all  night  long  he  could  be  found 
Within  his  room  beneath  the  ground, 
Where  if  he  aught  of  stars  did  find, 
Alone  must  see  them  in  his  mind. 
Ah  !   't  was  not  star,  but  rather  sigh, 
With  which  he  made  his  nights  go  by  ; 
Yet  none  conjectured  in  the  least 
What  cause  it  was  did  vex  that  priest. 

By  spirit  of  what  grief  possest, 
Which  thus  doth  rob  of  him  his  rest  ? 
What  in  good  fortune  can  he  see 
That  maketh  him  so  changed  be  ? 
By  all  the  gods  below,  above, 
Methinketh  that  he  is  in  love  ! 
With  whom,  with  what,  or  does  it  mean  - 
Arsiesis  dares  to  love  his  Queen  ? 
Oh  !  is  there  aught  beneath  the  sky 
To  which  man  fears  to  lift  the  eye, 
E'en  though  it  hath  to  fall  again, 
When  love  works  mischief  in  the  brain  ? 
If  this  be  true,  't  is  reason  e'en, 


AKSIESIS. 

The  why  a  priest  may  love  a  queen. 
Then  let  us  seek  if  this  be  so, 
If  he  doth  love  the  Queen,  or  no. 

But  human  love  ;  what  is  that  thing 
They  say  such  joy  to  man  doth  bring  ? 
Which,  tho'  it  hath  lived  ages  through, 
Does  ever  seem  so  fresh  and  new. 
The  question  this  reply  gives  birth, 
A  quaint  device  to  fill  the  earth. 
And  man  in  love — O  mournful  sight ! 
Can  for  the  time  not  see  aright, 
But  wanders  through  the  darkness  far, 
And  thinks  a  fire-fly  is  a  star. 
Each  muddy  pool  he  doth  mistake 
In  calling  it  a  lovely  lake. 
Yet  world  around  doth  see  full  well 
That  black  from  white  he  cannot  tell ; 
But  for  that  world  he  deeply  sighs, 
'Cause  they  be  fools  while  he  is  wise. 

Like  sailor,  thinking  he  doth  stand 
Far  out  to  sea,  away  from  land, 


A  J^  SI  E  SIS.  6 1 

But  by  the  morning  light  does  see 
The  v.'hite-capp'd  breakers  on  liis  lee, 
Then  knows  his  reck'ning  did  misstate, 
]]ut  knoweth  when  it  is  too  late. 
And  like  to  him,  that  man  above 
Who  tried  to  sail  by  chart  of  love ; 
He  fmdeth,  when  the  light  is  seen. 
Less  wise  than  he  did  think  hath  been. 

Some  men  who  in  their  minds  give  place 
To  naught  but  love  for  form  and  face  ; 
Tho'  rarely,  yet  a  few  we  find 
Who  love  ideals  of  the  mind. 
Arsiesis,  as  it  came  to  pass, 
Was  even  of  this  latter  class. 
For  tho'  most  men  the  world  has  seen 
At  once  would  madly  love  that  Queen, 
The  priest,  who  had  of  both  the  sight, 
Did  love  that  pretty  thing  of  light, 
Who  e'en  to  Cleopatra  spoke, 
And  unto  her  that  warning  broke. 

Now  is  there  not  an  inner  voice 
Which  guideth  man  unto  a  choice, 


62  AKSIESIS. 

That  when  some  maiden  he  does  see, 

Can  say  at  once,  "  She  pleaseth  me  "? 

It  seemeth  a  decree  of  Fate, 

That  each  shall  in  his  brain  create 

A  fair  ideal  of  the  mind  ; 

Then  he  its  counterpart  must  find. 

And  more  or  less  in  love  he  '11  be, 

As  e'en  those  maidens  he  doth  see 

Bear  to  the  mind  resemblance  plain, 

To  this  creation  of  his  brain. 

Many  who  o'er  this  world  do  go 

Yet  this  resemblance  never  know  ; 

But  while  through  life  their  steps  they  bend, 

Seek  these  ideals  to  the  end. 

And  now  Arsiesis  pines  and  sighs 

For  spirit  form  he  did  devise, 

Which  but  for  Queen  would  e'er  remain 

Unknown,  quiescent  in  his  brain. 

Ha  !  spiteful  Cupid  had  a  care 

To  let  him  know  its  presence  there. 

How,  how  could  man  with  strength  of  mind 
Himself  so  all  deluded  find  ? 


63 


Fair  reader,  must  thou  truly  own 

The  dream  of  love  thou  well  hast  known. 

Perchance  the  while  thou  plain  couldst  see 

The  object  did  unworthy  be. 

Thy  parents  craved  wealth  or  fame, 

And  thou  need'st  get  it  with  the  name. 

Yet  for  what  thou  a  vice  didst  deem, 

Thou  wouldst  awaken  from  thy  dream. 

Oh  !  most  unhappy  was  thy  part 

'Twixt  battles  of  the  mind  and  heart. 

Thou  knew'st  full  well  what  thou  wouldst  do, 

Yet  doing  did  fly  far  from  you. 

And  then  thou  saidst  :   "  It  is  not  well  ; 

I  can,  I  will  shake  off  this  spell. 

'T  is  clear  as  light,  now  do  I  see 

This  loving  is  not  well  for  me. 

Ah  !  it  is  o'er,  again  I'm  strong ; 

Now  Future  come,  the  Past  was  wrong  !  " 

Yet  when  most  sure  thy  love  was  o'er. 

Thou  loved'st  more  madly  than  before. 

And  so  this  priest  did  try  full  well 

With  all  his  strength  to  break  that  spell  ; 

But  found  it  closelv  to  his  mind 


64  A  A' SI E  SIS. 

Did  silken  threads  of  fancy  bind  , 

Tiio'  banished  in  the  morn  from  sight 

E'en  was  it  there  again  at  night. 

And  longed  he  once  again  to  see 

Hovr  fair  to  sight  that  form  did  be  ; 

But,  tho'  sore  tempted,  must  forbear 

To  call  that  shining  vision  there  ; 

For  as  a  priest  such  vows  did  take. 

He  would  not,  must  not,  dared  not  break. 

Tho'  many  things  he  e'en  might  do, 

Deceiving  Queen  and  people  too. 

Still  this  his  conscience  did  applaud, 

Since  done  in  service  of  a  god. 

That  evil  deeds  might  oft  be  wise, 

If  from  that  evil  good  did  rise. 

But  then  would  he  these  powers  abuse, 

If  for  himself  that  power  did  use. 

And  did  he  not  these  promptings  heed, 

'T  would  then  be  sacrilege  indeed. 

Days  which  are  present  short  do  last, 

Then  join  Time's  graveyard,  called  the  Past. 

Tho'  not  forever  buried  they, 


ARSIESIS.  65 

But  even  till  that  Judgment  Day, 
When  they  their  being  shall  renew  ; 
And  pass  along  in  grand  review  ; 
Yea,  as  they  solemnly  march  by 
Beneath  that  awful  Judge's  eye, 
Then  all  those  secrets  will  they  tell 
These  buried  days  have  kept  so  well  ; 
Once  more  will  each  man  live  again 
His  life  for  joy,  perchance  for  pain. 

Thus  as  each  day  flew  quick  and  fast 
To  join  those  legions  of  the  Past, 
Arsiesis,  now  weighed  down  by  care, 
Would  with  them  lay  his  troubles  there. 
That  once  strong  man  pale  as  the  dead, 
All  charm  in  life  for  him  had  fled  ; 
Whilst  fire  which  burned  in  his  mind 
Its  fuel  in  his  frame  did  find  ; 
From  marks  of  suffering  ill  represt 
It  seemed  ere  long  he  'd  be  at  rest. 

One  fateful  night,  resolve  is  ta'en 
That  shining  form  to  see  again. 


66  ARSIESIS. 

And  in  that  darken'd  house  of  stone 
Her  will  he  see,  unwatch'd,  alone. 
So  once  again  she  bright  and  clear 
Above  that  altar  doth  appear. 
And  then  the  priest  with  awe-struck  face 
Approacheth  near  unto  that  place  ; 
With  look  which  speaketh  joy,  amaze, 
Doth  he  upon  that  picture  gaze. 

O  that  to  speech  there  did  belong 

Some  word  which  were  than  gaze  more  strong  ! 

Ne'er  was  a  word  yet  found  in  book 

Which  half  described  that  yearning  look. 

'Cause,  all  his  feeling  most  intense 

He  needs  express  by  single  sense  ; 

All,  all  love  for  that  thing  of  light 

Indeed  must  concentrate  in  sight. 

Too  weak  to  stand  he  seems  to  grow, 
And  on  his  bended  knee  doth  go. 
That  look,  all  too  intense  to  stay, 
Like  scenes  in  slumber  fades  away. 
Ah  !  yes  ;  that  very  look  now  flies, 


A  J^  SI E  SIS.  67 

Taking  life  with  it  through  his  eyes  ; 
Seems  pass'd  into  that  form  so  fair, 
To  find  a  happier  dwelling  there. 
Now  all  is  o'er,  his  day  is  past. 
Peace  hath  unto  him  come  at  last. 
Farewell,  O  priest  !    where'er  you  be. 
Oh  !  mayst  thou  there  contentment  see. 

Sweet  Dawn,  which  is  the  smile  of  Day, 

Did  o'er  the  face  of  Morning  play  ; 

A  smile  which  seem'd  to  grow  more  bright, 

As  gazing  on  the  fleeing  Night 

E'en  taking  with  it,  as  it  flies, 

The  touch  of  Slumber  from  all  eyes. 

Life  for  the  world  begins  once  more  ; 

Its  sweet  oblivion  is  o'er. 

The  priests  wliom  in  the  temple  walls 
Their  daily  duty  early  calls 
Did  sec  Arsiesis  kneeling  there, 
As  if  he  sought  the  gods  in  prayer. 
The  minutes  pass'd,  his  place  he  kept, 
They  thought  it  were  perchance  he  slept. 


68  AKSIESIS. 

Ah  !  right  were  they,  it  was  that  sleep 
That  weary  mortals  long  do  keep. 
And  nearing  him,  did  raise  his  head, 
Then  knew  they  that  the  light  had  fled. 

With  one  accord,  these  priests  began 
To  say,  "  O  great  and  pious  man  ! 
Yea  even  'fore  the  altar  there 
He  haUi  breathed  out  his  life  in  prayer." 
And  when  they  're  sure  that  this  is  so, 
The  news  unto  the  Queen  doth  go. 

As  when  doth  cross  the  sky  at  night 

The  rolling  flame  of  Northern  Light, 

Surprise,  then  sorrow,  each  has  place 

Upon  that  most  expressive  face. 

Her  fav'rite  priest  hath  gone  indeed, 

And  she  is  left  to  feel  his  need. 

Long  in  such  thoughts  she  doth  not  live, 

But  quickly  does  the  order  give  : 

*'  Let  there  at  once  for  him  have  place, 

Those  solemn  honors  of  his  race  ; 

Let  all  those  mystic  rites  be  there 


A  K  SI E  SIS.  69 

Which  men  for  burial  prepare. 
And  unto  me  it  seemeth  best 
He  should  beneath  that  altar  rest. 
Ay,  let  him  in  the  temple  dwell, 
Amid  those  scenes  he  loved  so  well. 
And  from  that  temple  let  them  take 
All  things  that  it  a  temple  make. 
The  earth  from  it  which  lias  been  ta'en 
Let  them  restore  to  Earth  again. 
Then  close  it  up  unto  the  door  ; 
Make  all  as  solid  as  before." 

And  this  was  done  in  manner  grand, 
According  to  the  Queen's  command. 


Long  time  hath  glided  since  that  day, 

The  mighty  city  pass'd  away. 

Tho'  once  all  things  were  bright  and  fair, 

Now  is  there  naught  but  ruin  there. 

Traces  of  temple  are  no  more, 

The  desert  sands  have  strewn  them  o'er  ; 

But  still  beneath  them,  buried  deep. 


JO  ARSIESIS. 

Arsiesis  and  his  secret  keep. 
But  clear  in  distance  to  the  eye 
That  Pyramid  still  tow'reth  high, 
And  ever  watch  to  keep  does  seem 
Above  that  spot  where  he  doth  dream 
That  monument  of  stone  sublime 
Seemeth  as  lasting  e'en  as  Time, 
To  stand  far  into  Future  dim, 
A  grand  memorial  to  him. 

THE    END. 


TRIFLES    IN 


"  Trifies^  light  as  air.'' 

It  was  intended  to  have  called  this  portion  of  the  work  "  Trifles  in 
Verse."  but  finding  that  a  volume  of  poems  has  been  published  under 
that  name,  and  not  carmg  to  be  brought  up  for  an  infringmentof  copy- 
right, it  is  begged  that  the  reader  will  fill  up  the  blank  in  the  title  with 
whatever  word  may  seem  proper. 


71 


THE  LOVERS  :    A  FRAGMENT. 

Orvaldo  : 

A  lovely  night,  a  quiet  night  and  still,  not 
PL'en  the  faint  suspicion  of  a  sound  to 
Render  less  the  silence.     All  is  calm  ;  calm 
As  the  conscience  of  a  maiden  pure,  too 
Young  by  far  to  know  of  any  sin,  scarce  old 
Enough  to  dream  of  sorrows  yet  to  come, 
Which  like  to  clouds  as  they  drift  by  may  dim 
Life's    sunshine.       How    fair    beneath    the    moon 

this 
Pretty  mountain  dell, — a  volume  bound  in 
Silver  and  in  green, — like  unto  lands  which 
Have  creation  in  the  poet's  mind,  where 
Nymphs,  faries,  beings  of  the  world  unseen. 
Do  hold  their  nightly  sports.     A  fitting  stage 
Whereon  to  act  a  scene  from  Nature's 
Wondrous  drama — Love.     But  hark  !  for  now  the 
73 


74  THE  LOVERS:    A   FRAGMENT. 

Silvery  voices  of  the  village  chimes  do  name 
The  hour.     The  night  hath  grown  to  middle  age. 
Time  and  a  maiden's  promise  do  converge, 
For  she  hath  said,  at  midnight  will  I  meet 
With  thee,  and  now  't  is  past  the  hour  of  twelve. 
I  pray  thee  lend  her  speed,  O  Love,  to  haste 
Her  here  to  me  ! 

Alicia : 

Greeting  to  thee,  Orvaldo.     I  did  not 
Wait  for  Love  to  lend  me  speed,  but  took  I 
Speed  from  love  ;  and  quickly  made  less  far  that 
Distance  which  was  betwixt  myself  and  thee. 
But  art  thou  glad  to  see  me  once  again  ? 
And  tho'  I  have  been  absent  from  thine  eyes, 
Tell  me,  have  I  found  haven  in  thy  thoughts  .^ 
For  't  is  indeed  ordained  a  test  of  love. 
That  if  it  is  thou  really,  truly  lov'st. 
An  absence  from  thine  heart's  desire  will  give 
Thee  pain.     There'  s  little  joy  in  love,  when  what 
Thou  carest  for  is  absent  from  thy  gaze. 
Then  tell  me,  hast  thou  miss'd  me,  art  thou  glad 
That  I  am  here,  am  with  thee  once  again  ? 


THE  LOVERS:    A    FRAGMENT.  75 

Orvaldo  : 

Like  violets  tortured  by  the  summer's 
Heat,  with  heads  low- drooping  toward  the  earth  as 
If  they  pray'd  for  rain,  do  gladly  greet  the 
Fresh'ning  show'r,  imbibe  new  life  beneath 
The  rain-drops'  touch,  take  up  their  perfumed  being 
Once  again,  and  joyfully  live  on, 
So  't  is  with  me  :  as  longer  I  am  from 
Thee,  in  same  degree  doth  life  become  an 
Effort.     Yet  when  the  time  hath  come  again. 
That  I  do  in  thy  presence  stand,  like  to 
Those  little  flowers  refresh'd  by  rain,  new 
Life  comes  o'er  me  like  a  flood,  and  once  more 
I  most  joyfully  live  on. 

Alicia  : 

As  I  did  certain  know  how  thou  wouldst  speak. 
So  hast  thou  spoken.     But  then  thou  asketh. 
If  I  did  feel  all  certain  of  thy  love. 
That  thou  hadst  let  me  enter  in  thine  heart. 
And  to  assure  me  quite  none  other  there 
Should  dwell,  hadst  locked  the  door  and  thrown 

away 


76  THE  LOVERS:    A    FRAGMENT. 

The  key  ;  I  say,  thou  asketh  why  it  is, 
If  I  had  all  this  knowledge  in  advance, 
I    ask'd    thee,    didst   thou    love   me»        Dost    thou 
know  ? 

Orvaldo  : 

It  needs  me  to  confess,  O  fair  Alicia  ! 
The  why  thou  ask'd  me  what  thou  .hast  is  not 
O'er  clear  to  me.      Perchance  I  'd  answer  best 
If  I  did  say  that  thou  hast  ask'd  me  what 
Thou  didst  already  know  full  well,  because 
Thou  art  a  woman  ;  and  as  a  reason 
For  a  woman's  whim  is  e'er  past  finding 
Out,  so  likewise  is  the  motive  for  thy 
Question. 

Alicia  : 

I  pray  thee  list,  Orvaldo  : 
And  hast  thou  seen — but  I  well  know  thou  hast — 
How  doth  the  Swiss,  most  cunning  workman  he, 
On  tiny  scale,  in  ivory  or  in  wood, 
Make  counterfeit  of  buildings,  with  roof  and 


THE   LOVERS:    A    FRAGMENT.  77 

Floor,  window  and  door  complete  in  each 

Detail  ?     Yet  pretty  as  this  tiny  structure 

Is,  and  fair  to  look  upon,  its  fragile 

Floors  would  surely  crush  beneath  thy  weight. 

And  like  to  this  are  woman's  thoughts  and  fancies. 

For  tho'  their  fragile  structure  may  not  bear 

That  heavy  weight  which  men  do  Reason  call, 

Like  to  the  tiny  houses  of  the  Swiss, 

So  are  they  things  of  beauty,  which  in  a 

Way  do  serve  a  purpose,  and  a  mission  fill. 

Orvaldo  : 

My  fairest  love,  tell  me  what  thou  wouldst  say  ; 
For  tho'  I  perfectly  do  hear  thy  words. 
The  thing  which  thou  wouldst  have  me  understand 
Is  not  quite  clear  to  me. 

Alicia  : 

I  '11  make  it  clear  as  noonday  ;  list  to  me  : 
'T  is  sweeter  far  than  music  ever  drawn 
By  player  skill'd  from  instrument  of  string, 
To  listen  to  thee  while  thou  say'st,  I  love 
Thee. 


THE  LOVERS:    A    FRAGMENT. 


Orvaldo 


O  mine  Alicia  !  if  at  this  present  time 
That  Power  above  who  to  me  being  gave 
Should  e'en  see  fit  unto  himself  to  take 
That  life  again,  then  would  I  say  with  my 
Expiring  breath,  I  had  not  lived  in  vain. 
Since    I    had    done,    by   thought    or    word,    some- 
thing 
That  well  did  please  thee. 
But  tell  me,  loved  one,  thou  art  sad  to-night. 
Most  times  thy  face,  thy  ways,  thy  words  are  all 
So  bright,  thou  seemest  to  think  in  sunshine. 
But  on  this  night  it  would  appear  thy  mind 
Did  surely  in  a  shadow  move  ;  each  look. 
Each  word  seems  darken'd  by  that  shadow.     So 
Tell  me,  pray,  what  ill  hath  come  to  thee.     I 
Would  a  portion  of  thy  sorrow  bear,  and 
Make  thy  burden  lighter. 

Alicia  : 

Most  truly  dost  thou  read  the  human  face, 
Orvaldo  ! 


THE  LOVERS:    A   FRAGMENT.  79 

Orvaldo : 

Ay  !  well  can  I  or  any  other  read, 
When  kindly  Love  lends  clearness  to  the  sight. 

Alicia  : 

Then  hearken  while  unto  thee  I  do  tell 
Why  shade  not  sunshine  's  on  my  face  to-night. 
Scarce  have  I  travell'd  on  the  road  of  Life 
As  yet  a  fourth  the  distance  ;  still  do  I 
Think,  and  thinking  try  to  solve  the  problems 
Of  existence  and  of  love.     So  it  doth 
Seem  to  me,  and  it  so  seeming  I  believe 
That  for  all  joy  that  in  this  life  we  see, 
So  in  this  life  must  we  for  all  that  joy, 
In  pain  make  equal  payment.     And  oft  as 
In  the  twihght  I  do  sit  alone — not 
Lonesome,  for  my  thoughts  of  thee  do  keep  me 
Company — then  do  I  see  how  fair  a 
Picture  is  this  life,  when  Love  doth  be  the 
Artist.     But  as  I  think  some  day  for  all 
This  joy  I  '11  pay  the  price  in  sorrow,  that 
Sunny  picture  disappears,  and  naught  but 
Gloom  remains. 


80  THE   LOVERS:    A   FRAGMENT. 

Orvaldo : 

Alicia,  well  do  I  think  those  of  this 
World,  of  sorrow  have  full  share.     But  then  thou 
Well  dost  know  that  written  in  the  Holy- 
Book  is  this  express  command,  to  take  no 
Thought  of  ills  that  are  to  come  until  they 
Have  existence.     Dost  thou  the  less  enjoy 
A  sunny  day,  'cause  in  the  distant  future 
Rain    must    come  ?      'T   would    be    the    height    of 

folly. 
Then  let  's  not  mar  the  dream  in  which  we  live 
By  seeking  to  awaken. 

Alicia  : 

As  I  most  anxious  am  to  be  convinced, 
Thy  words  do  bear  to  me  conviction  full. 
But  I  am  young,  Orvaldo,  and  little 
Know  that  science  of  the  heart  in  which  I 
Think  thee   skill'd.     Then  let   me  ask  thee  more, 

for 
I  shall  love  thee  more  when  I  know  why  I 
Love  thee. 


THE  LOVERS:    A    FRAGMENT,  8 1 

Orvaldo : 

Sweetheart,  I  prithee  ask  me  what  thou  wilt, 
And  tho'  the  truth  shall  be  not  to  my  gain, 
'Fore  Heav'n  I  '11  answer  truly. 

Alicia  : 

I  do  believe  that  thou  dost  love  me  so, 
That  thou  hast  e'en  forgot  all  thought  of  self, 
And  wilt  deal  by  me  truly.     Then  let  me  ask 
If  all  my  love  for  thee  will  greater  grow 
As  life  more  short  becomes,  or  think'st  thou  will 
It  lessen  ? 

Orvaldo  : 

The  question  which  thou  asketh  me,  like  all 
Which  seek  to  gaze  upon  what  's  yet  to  come 
And  make  the  future  present,  indeed  is 
Difficult  to  answer  ;  yet  thus  to  me 
It  seems  :  Should  this  same  Future  prove  my  friend, 
Showing  in  me  some  noble  qualities 
Of  such  a  kind  as  women  do  admire 
In  men,  then  thou  wilt  surely  love  me  more  ; 


82  THE  LOVERS:    A   FRAGMENT. 

But  if  it  chance  to  be  that  fondly  thou 
Dost  overestimate,  and  what  thou  think'st 
Is  gold  Time's  touch  will  tarnish,  and  unto 
Thee  show  a  baser  metal, — if  this  shall 
Come  to  pass,  as  surely  as  the  wind  from 
Where  it  listeth  blows,  so  surely  wilt  thou 
Love  me  less. 

Alicia  : 

Thy  words,  Orvaldo,  wake  no  fears  in  me. 
Create  no  apprehension  in  my  breast. 
And  here  doth  be  the  diff' rence  'twixt  the  love 
Of  woman  and  of  man  :     For  when  a  man 
Doth  see  a  fault  in  her  he  loves,  his  love 
Then  lesser  grows.     Poor  kind  of  love  be  this  ! 
But  when  those  (whom  it  pleaseth  men  to  call 
The  weaker  vessel)  see  defects  in  those 
For  whom  most  earnestly  they  care,  then  does 
That  love  in  ev'ry  way  increase  and  grow  ; 
And  by  this  means,  hiding  defects  from  sight, 
Loveth  she  then  the  more. 
But  while  in  this  cold  way  we  do  discuss 
The  nature  and  the  bound'ries  of  our  love, 


THE   LOVERS:    A    FRAGMENT.  83 

I  pray  that  thou  wilt  tell  me,  if  thou  can'st, 
Art  thou  the  one  that  I  will  always  love  ; 
Or  may  another  stray  upon  the  scene, 
And  to  him  bind  my  fancy  ? 

Orvaldo : 

Alicia,  dost  thou,  canst  thou,  love,  expect 
A  pretty  fleecy  cloud,  which  like  unto 
A  thistle-down,  appears  suspended  from 
The  Summer  sky, — I  say  again,  canst  thou 
Expect  this  airy  thing  to  motionless 
Remain  ?     Thou  need'st  not  answer,  for  well  do 
I  know  thou  dost  not.     And  so  is  human 
Love  like  to  that  Summer  cloud  ;  thou  dost  not 
Know  when  wind  may  come  and  bear  away  that 
Cloud.     No  more  canst  tell  when  circumstance  will 
Rise  to  waft  thy  love  from  where  it  rests,  to 
Regions  more  preferr'd. 

Alicia : 

Tho'  I  have  heard  each  word  that  thou  hast  said, 
Thy  meaning  is  not  over  clear  to  me. 
I  prithee  speak  more  plainly. 


84  THE  LOVERS:    A    FRAGMENT, 

Orvaldo : 

Then  will  I  clothe  my  thoughts  in  other  form, 
And  my  ideas  put  into  such  a  shape 
That  them  thou  canst  not  fail  to  understand. 
Perchance  thou  wandereth  through  some  palace    . 
On  whose  walls  do  hang  fair  thoughts  of  artists, 
Made  apparent  to  the  eye  on  canvas  ; 
And  listlessly  thou  passest  many  by, 
Till  now  at  last  thine  eye  doth  rest  on  one 
Which  well  doth  please  thy  fancy,  and  thou  say'st  : 
A  fairer  picture  than  the  one  I  see 
Were  all  impossible  for  brush  to  trace. 
Thou  wanderest  on,  and  still  another 
Emblem  of  the  painter's  skill  doth  strike  thy 
Fancy  ;  thou  dost  say  :  O  lovely  painting  ! 
None  other  I  admire  excepting  thee. 
Thy  former  choice  is  all  forgotten,  since 
Thou  hast  found  this  treasure.     And  so  in  love  : 
Thou  think'st  none  other  canst  thou  love,  save  him 
Who  is  by  you  selected.     But  mark  me  : 
There  do  be  others  in  the  world  thou  wilt 
Love  more  than  him,  if  Fate  decree  that  thou 
Shalt  see  them. 


THE  LOVERS:    A    FRAGMENT.  85 

Alicia  : 

I  *ve  listen'd  and  well  do  I  understand 
All  things  which  thou  hast  said,  and  this  I  say  : 
Now  let  the  Future  come,  I  fear  it  not. 
But  why  load  Love  with  logic  ?     Full  as  well, 
And  equally  as  wise,  striving  with  links 
Of  steel  the  flitting  humming-bird  to  bind. 
Then  let  us  pass  the  hour  in  converse  more 
Congenial  to  the  time  and  place — 
What  say  est  thou  ? 

Orvaldo  : 

Most  gladly  I  agree. 


Omaldo  : 

Alas  !  how  wearily  the  hours  drag  on 
When  earthly  sorrows  present  with  us  be, 
And  we  'd  fain  have  the  time  go  quickly  by. 
But  when  some  pleasure  doth  the  moments  fill, 
And  we  do  long  that  Time  delay  his  steps, 
Passing  not  by  so  quickly,  then  seems  it 


^     OF  THE     ^\^''ff 

UNIVERSITY  1 

OF  J 


86  THE  LOVERS:   A   FRAGMENT. 

That  the  hours  do  fairly  fly,  as  if  those 
Hours  were  ever  jealous  of  the  joy  that 
We  experience.     *     *     * 

How  fast  the  night  has  flown  !  we  needs  must  part. 
Behold  !  fair  one,  the  darkness  wellnigh  gone. 
And  even  now  the  Dawn,  like  maiden  blushing 
That  the  world  should  see  her  self-disclosed 
Loveliness,  glides  o'er  the  sky  fast  in  the 
Footsteps  of  retreating  Night.     And  when  the 
Queen  of  dark  next  from  her  exile  comes,  which 
Is  not  long  time  hence,  then  shall  we — 

Alicia  : 

Meet  again. 

Orvaldo  : 

I  pray  thee  now,  make  me  thy  debtor  more. 
And  give  me  one  last  kiss  for  our — 

Alicia : 
Farewell. 


THE   COVETOUS. 

la'^DlULL  many  a  lay, 

igiSBll     Of  ancient  day, 

A  story  doth  unfold 

Of  men  who  were  to  dragons  turn'd 

For  thirsting  after  gold. 

With  eyes  of  fire 

Loud  breathing  ire. 

Did  near  their  treasure  live  ; 

To  mortals  who  would  steal  their  wealth 

Destruction  they  might  give. 

la  modern  day 
It  still  doth  stay, 
A  shadow  of  the  past ; 
In  which  for  riches  some  do  grope, 
And  finding,  hold  them  fast. 
87 


88  THE    COVETOUS. 

In  form  and  face 

No  change  hath  place, 

Yet  plain  the  mind  doth  see, 

The  inner  man  in  spirit  changed, 

They  very  dragons  be. 


THE    NANCY   LEE. 

H  !  she  had  the  tide, 
And  the  wind  was  fair, 


While  now,  from  her  moorings  free, 

She  parted  the  spray 

From  her  briny  way. 

As  she  glided  her  course 

Down  the  sunlit  bay, 

The  pretty  ship  Nancy  Lee. 

And  a  merry  song 
Did  the  sailors  sing. 
As  they  on  the  ropes  did  haul : 
"  Blow,  blow,  ye  winds,  blow, 
And  make  Nancy  know 
That  over  the  waters 
She  swiftly  must  go." 
Right  gaily  thus  sang  they  all. 
.89 


go  THE  Nancy  lee. 

And  no  braver  man, 

On  sea  or  on  shore, 

Than  her  captain  could  you  find  ; 

But  his  face  did  wear 

A  sorrowful  air  ; 

He  thought  of  that  maiden 

So  young  and  so  fair, 

That  sweetheart  he  's  left  behind. 

And  the  breeze  held  strong. 
She  has  reached  the  sea  ; 
Now  the  pilot  waves  his  hand, 
Climbs  over  the  side 
Where  his  skiff  doth  ride. 
Says  drifting  astern 
With  the  wind  and  tide  : 
"  God  speed  to  a  distant  land." 

Where  sky  doth  meet  water 

Now  sun  kisseth  both, 

Tips  with  gold  each  wavy  crest ; 

Seems  longing  to  stay, 

Loth  to  go  away 


OF  THE         ^ 


T/T^'^^^i^^'eT  LEE.  91 


From  this  scene  he  has 

Painted  in  colors  so  gay, 

Then  sinks  in  the  Ocean's  breast. 

Now  starry-crovvn'd  Night, 
In  darken'd  attire. 
As  seeming  to  mourn  for  Day, 
Glides  over  the  deep. 
Gives  the  tired  ones  sleep. 
To  all  save  the  few 
Who  the  watch  do  keep 
While  the  Nancy  sails  her  way. 

The  captain  doth  rest, — 

'T  is  his  watch  below, — 

And  sweetly  does  he  dream 

That  walking  beside 

His  own  promised  bride  ; 

Says,  "  I  love  thee  alone 

In  this  world  so  wide," 

As  they  stcay  by  a  murmuring  stream. 

Sleep,  mariner,  sleep^ 
And  enjoy  thy  dream, 


92  THE   NANCY  LEE. 

For  thy  rest  will  soon  be  o'er  ; 

May  Heav'n  create 

What  thy  thoughts  relate, 

That  it  thou  mayst  live 

In  that  future  state, 

When  thou  wak'st  on  the  other  shore. 

But  the  night  grows  cold, 

For  the  Ice  King  breathes 

A  fog  o'er  the  ocean's  face, 

And  the  risen  cloud, 

Like  unto  a  shroud, 

Hangeth  damp  and  cold 

O'er  the  Nancy  proud, 

But  the  good  ship  holds  her  pace. 

"  Hard  down  with  your  helm  !  " 

Too  late,  too  late. 

Crash  !  into  the  berg  she  goes. 

Oh  !  alas,  alas  ! 

'Gainst  the  icy  mass 

Her  bow  doth  snap  off 

Like  the  brittle  glass  ; 

Into  her  the  ocean  flows. 


THE  NANCY  LEE,  93 


From  sleep  into  death, 

'T  is  an  awful  change  ; 

Oh  !   a  sad,  sad  thing  to  see 

Man  ta'en  unaware, 

Mid  his  dreams  so  fair, 

Not  time  to  breathe  unto 

His  Maker  a  prayer  ; 

May  Heaven  most  merciful  be  ! 

Now  she  sinks  from  sight 
With  a  rushing  sound, 
As  like  to  the  Ocean's  wail; 
And  Fate  doth  save 
From  a  watery  grave 
One  man  in  a  boat 
There  adrift  on  the  wave, 
To  carry  this  mournful  tale. 

Thus  't  is  oft  that  man 
Doth  embark  his  hopes, 
For  the  Isle  of  Wealth  to  sail  ; 
And  away  they  glide 
With  a  fav'ring  tide, 


94  THE  NANCY  LEE. 

While  fortune  is  lending 

Her  breezes  beside  ; 

And  ne'er  do  they  think  to  fail. 

Like  as  waters  do  ebb, 

And  waters  do  flow, 

Good  fortune  and  bad  there  be  ; 

The  bark  which  doth  bear 

These  hopes  so  fair 

Meets  a  barrier  great 

That  none  knew  was  there, 

And  goes  down  like  the  Nancy  Lee. 


WOMAN< 


'M  thine  for  life, 
1  will  be  true 
As  needle  to  the  star," 
She  saith  to-day  ; 
Ere  morning  grav 
Her  promisea  love 
May  from  thee  stray — 
How  fickle  Women  are  ! 

''In  thee  I  live, 
Through  thee  I  breathe, 
There  all  my  pleasure  find." 
Tho'  chance  't  may  be, 
'T  is  plain  to  thee. 
E'er  changeful  as 
The  wind-kiss'd  sea 
Is  ever  Woman's  mind. 
95 


i^6  WOMAN. 

"  For  wealth  and  fame 

And  prince's  name 

Ne'er  would  I  change  my  lot.' 

Trust  tides  that  flow, 

Aught  else  below. 

Ay  !  e'en  thy  harvests 

Ere  they  grow. 

But  trust  a  Woman  not. 

A  child  of  change, 

Say  what  thou  wilt, 

Choose  her  from  near  or  lar  • 

And  try  in  vain, 

Canst  not  explain, 

True  as  the  Truth 

These  words  remain  : 

How  fickle  Women  are. 


CHARITY. 

fNLY  a  poor  old  man  ; 

All  o'er  whose  tatter'd  coat  so  thin 
The  wind  doth  have  free  entrance  in  ; 
He  hopes  some  will  a  penny  give, 
For  he  must  beg  if  he  would  live. 

With  ragged  hat  in  hand  ; 
Perchance  some  Christian  passer-by- 
Will  cast  on  him  a  pitying  eye  ; 
For  on  that  wrinkl'd  face  does  stray 
The  sunlight  of  a  brighter  day. 

A  hungry  little  dog  ; 
Who  never  from  his  side  does  go, 
But  watcheth  there  through  weal  and  woe  ; 
Is  still  a  friend,  all  others  gone, 
Content  to  love  and  hunger  on. 
97 


98  CHARITY. 

Cometh  a  haughty  dame  ; 

Robed  in  many  a  silk'n  fold, 

With  sparkling  gem  and  bands  of  gold  ; 

She  who  in  luxury  doth  live 

Sure  will  to  him  some  trifle  give. 

Thus  humbly  doth  he  speak  : 
This  day  I  have  not  tasted  bread  ; 
There  scarce  is  where  to  lay  my  head  ; 
Kind  lady,  I  would  grateful  be 
A  penny  to  receive  from  thee. 

Only  a  haughty  glance  ; 
Think'st  thou  I  '11  feed  when  on  the  street 
Each  beggar  I  do  chance  to  meet  ? 
What  are  thy  wants,  old  man,  to  me  ? 
The  city  should  provide  for  thee. 

No  murmur  doth  he  make  ; 
The  little  dog  does  look  a  sigh, 
And  casts  on  him  a  pitying  eye, 
As  they  together  patient  wait, 
To  find  in  some  a  kinder  fate. 


CHARITY.  99 

Cometh  a  little  child  ; 
With  golden  hair,  and  laughing  eye, 
Whose  tint  seems  borrow'd  from  the  sky  ; 
Her  merry  laugh,  her  pretty  way, — 
A  beam  of  sunshine  let  astray. 

She  sudden  seeth  him  ; 

A  look  of  pity  hath  a  place 

Upon  that  sweet  and  childish  face. 

"  Oh,  mamma,  see  that  poor  old  man  ! 

I  'd  like  to  help  him  all  I  can." 

A  little  silver  piece  ; 

"Take  it,"  the  pretty  creature  said, 

"And,  poor  old  man,  go  get  some  bread  ; 

But  mind,  it  is  not  all  for  you, 

The  little  dog  must  have  some  too." 

"  God  bless  thee  little  maid  !  " 

Seemed  all  the  words  that  he  could  speak  ; 

A  tear  flow'd  down  that  wither'd  cheek ; 

He  did  a  silent  blessing  say. 

Then  turn'd  aside  and  went  his  way. 


IQO  CHARITY, 

How  great  is  charity  I 
Each  from  his  store  some  mite  may  give 
To  help  a  fellow-creature  live. 
Through  ages  will  the  record  stay 
To  cheer  him  at  the  latter  day. 


SONG, 

JWEETHEART,  sweetheart,  tell  me  truly 
Wilt  thou  ever  constant  be? 


When  the  rolling  seas  divide  us, 
Wilt  thou  still  be  true  to  me  ? 

Wilt  thou  find  some  other  lover 
Who  *11  be  with  thee  day  by  day, 
And  when  I  am  far,  far  from  thee 
Lead  my  darling's  heart  astray  ? 

Sweetheart,  darling,  tell  me  quickly, 
Say  I  have  not  loved  in  vain, 
And  you  '11  not  forget  me  absei)t 
Till  I  come  to  thee  again. 


lOI 


GENEVA. 

WAS  on  a  sunny  Sabbath  afternoon  ; 
Nature  without  did  look  so  bright  and   fair, 
I  hasten'd  forth  her  beauties  I  might  view, 
Imbibe  new  being  with  the  Autumn  air. 

Quickly  the  confines  of  the  town  are  pass'd, 
Now  cross  the  pathway  o'er  yon  rushing  stream, 
Climb  to  the  top  that  little  mountain  hill, 
Forget  the  world,  and  for  a  moment  dream. 

How  sweet  is  freedom  in  its  ev'ry  form  ! 
And  so  thy  gaze,  all  unimpeded,  free, 
Wanders  o'er  beauties  of  the  distant  view ; 
That  freedom  giveth  pleasure  unto  thee. 

A  lovely  landscape  lieth  there  below 
In  gorgeous  colors,  like  a  flag  unfurled  ; 

I02 


GENEVA.  103 

Lake,  mountain,  foliage  by  the  Autumn  touched, 
'T  is  e'en  a  pretty  fraction  of  the  world. 

Once  mighty  Csesar  and  his  Roman  band 
Did  wander  where  now  rise  those  walls   of  gray  ; 
Calvin  and  Luther  did  reform  the  land, 
And  men  were  taught  they  to   their   God   should 
pray. 

As  if  from  out  its  place  above  the  earth 
Had  downward  fall'n  a  piece  of  Summer  sky, 
So,  stretching  to  the  distance  far  away, 
Leman  doth  in  its  azure  beauty  lie. 

Like  runners  striving  hard  to  reach  the  goal. 
By  side  the  Aarve  and  Rhone  there  rush  along. 
Whose  clear  and  muddy  floods  do  sep'rate  stay, 
As  difficult  to  mix  as  right  and  wrong. 

And  cold  hath  kiss'd  the  mountain  top  with  snow. 
The  sun  doth  make  it  seem  a  snow  of  gold. 
All  strewn  with  gorgeous  diamonds,  sparkling  bright, 
Like  one  doth  read  in  fairy  tales  of  old. 


I04  GENEVA. 

That  mighty  Artist  whom  men  call  the  Sun 
Maketh  with  magic  touch  the  snow  crests  pink, 
While  ev'ry  minute  deeper  grows  the  hue 
As  he  into  his  western  couch  doth  sink. 

Nature's  fair  picture  fadeth  fast  from  sight, 
Vanish'd  the  scene, — 't  is  needless  now  to  stay, 
Each  moment  doth  the  landscape  darker  grow, 
And  put  on  mourning  for  the  passing  Day. 

Geneva,  Nov.^  '8o. 


A  DREAM. 


HILE  sleeping,  it  lo  me  did  seem 
I  wandered  by  a  murmuring  stream, 


Upon  whose  borders  did  there  stand 
A  lovely  castle  vast  and  grand  ; 
But  seeking  for  foundation  stone, 
I  sought  in  vain,  for  there  was  none. 
Just  then  a  gentle  passing  breeze 
Did  touch  the  foliage  of  the  trees, 
And  looking  toward  that  castle  fair, 
Then  saw  I  naught  but  ruin  there. 
That  breath  of  air,  so  quick  begun, 
Blew  dome  and  column  into  one  ; 
While  there  was  naught  unto  the  eye 
Save  a  faint  spot  upon  the  sky. 

This  very  strange  to  me  did  seem  ; 
A  castle  fair  beside  a  stream, 
105 


I06  A    DREAM. 

Which,  looking  strong  enough  to  stay, 
A  breath  of  air  did  blow  away. 
At  last  the  meaning  did  appear, 
As  if  on  sky  't  were  written  clear  : 
Poor  mortals  one  doth  often  find 
Who  build  vast  fabrics  with  the  mind  ; 
On  no  foundation  they  remain. 
Save  on  some  mirage  of  the  brain. 
But  then  a  wand'ring  breeze  of  Fate 
Blows  on  that  structure  soon  or  late, 
And,  like  to  castle  by  the  stream. 
They  find  it  all  was  but  a  dream. 


A  FANCY. 

HE  Icy  King,  whose  throne  is  at  that  spot, 
A   ne'er  reached  point,   which  men  do  call 
the  Pole, 
Did  south'ard  ride,  borne  by  his  Northern  Wind 
Alike  o'er  mountains  and  where  seas  do  roll. 

As  passing  by,  all  Nature  own'd  his  power. 
Each  mighty  tree  did  lowly  bend  the  head  ; 
The  painting  of  the  landscape,  living  green, 
Beneath  his  heatless  touch  lay  whiten'd,  dead. 

He  travell'd  on,  and  swift  before  him  flew 
His  rival,  e'en  that  Monarch  called  heat. 
Who  sought  the  balmy  fastness  of  his  home, 
And  safety  from  a  King  he  dared  not  meet. 

From  out  my  realms  no  farther  will  I  go. 
Ho  !  Northwind,  pause.     I  '11  rest  me  here  awhile. 
107 


I08  A    FANCY. 

Then  comes  a  calm  ;  all  do  his  presence  feel, 
And  now  doth  smiling  Nature  cease  to  smile. 

But  not  for  aye  could  rest  the  Ice  King  here  ; 
The  Sun,  his  mighty  ruler,  will'd  it  so, 
And  bade  the  Heat  to  from  his  exile  come. 
The  cold  Usurper  from  these  realms  to  go. 

Sweet  Southern  winds  once  more  unto  those  lands 
The  long-expected  Heat  do  thither  bear ; 
Flowers  do  rejoice,  for  desolation  's  past, 
And  laughing  Nature  once  again  is  there. 


A  QUESTION. 

HY  is  't  that  poets  of  the  modern  time 
Seek  in  the  graveyard  of  the  buried  Past 
Fit  subjects  for  their  rhyme  ? 
Is  it  that  topics  in  the  day  they  live 
Are  all  unworthy  of  a  poet's  thought, 
That  they  no  record  give  ? 
Alas  !  't  is  not  from  choice  that  this  be  so, 
That  these,  whene'er  they  seek  a  mighty  theme, 
Must  back  far  distant  go. 
Still  just  as  sweet  the  violet  decks  the  Spring, 
And  yet  the  feather'd  dwellers  of  the  grove 
As  joyfully  do  sing. 
Ah  !  well,  they  in  whose  minds  the  thought  doth 

rise, 
They  who  would  write    sweet   lays  of   birds   and 

flowers, 
And  charms  of  woman's  eyes, 
109 


no  A    QUESTION. 

Still  find  fit  models  in  the  present  day, 

From  whence  an  inspiration  they  may  draw 

For  all  that  they  would  say. 

But  poet  who  would  make  the  reader  feel, 

Would  show  those  sparks  which  glittering  fall 

From  hot  impassioned  steel, 

In  Time's  perspective  are  his  subjects  born, 

Who  lived,  and  living  acted  mighty  roles, 

Once  in  creation's  morn. 


SAVED. 


PRETTY  violet  one  day 
To  Heaven  raised  its  head, 
And  humbly  begged  one  drop  of  dew, 
From  thirst  't  was  almost  dead. 

And  sad  its  little  flower  heart, 
That  Fate  had  will'd  it  so, 
Its  bright  and  happy  home  to  leave, 
In  imknown  fields  to  blow. 

But  now  a  cloud  of  darken'd  hue, 
Borne  by  the  west  wind's  breath. 
Swept  o'er  the  scene,  its  mission  was 
To  save  that  flower  from  death, 

Down  came  the  rain  with  fresh'ning  touch  ; 
The  violet  look'd  above, 

And  cast  toward  Heav'n — its  Friend  in  need- 
One  grateful  look  of  love. 


112  SA  VED. 

If,  then,  a  Kindly  Power  above 
Can  hear  a  flower's  call, 
Will  not  kind  favors,  if  we  ask, 
Descend  upon  us  all  ? 


TO  EDWIN  BOOTH. 


NSPIRED  creations  of  a  master-mind, 

King,  warrior,  prelate,  or  whate'er  they  be, 
As  perfect  read,  as  perfect  them  we  see 
When  they  embodiment  in  thee  do  find. 
And  did  that  Wizard  now  live  on  the  earth, 
Who  doth  man's  inmost  nature  ever  reach 
Alike  by  witcheries  of  thought  and  speech, 
Unto  the  world  he'd  have  thee  give  them  birth. 
Far  distant  be  the  day  when  we  must  part  ; 
I  pray  the  Fates  long  may  they  let  thee  stay, 
Giving  to  us  bright  glances  at  thy  Art 
As  run  we  swiftly  with  the  world  away. 
This  better  name  than  acting  I  would  give 
A  part  thou  dost  not  act,  but  e'en  do  live. 

THE    END. 


